another man's sorrows

How about a quote from the Buddha?

"Long is the night to him who is awake; long is a mile to him who is tired; long is life to the foolish who do not know the true law."

I've studied laws, both true and fake, and shortened my life thereby.  Law school was like a crucible, but I fear my metal may have been weak; I emerged from it feeling cold and brittle, and I'd forgotten the shape that I used to be.

Having read the phenomenal work Buddha by the genius Osamu Tezuka, I understand some of what is meant by the "true law" in the quote above.  And it does have to do with the proper shape of things; it stresses the importance of hewing to your purpose, and not letting yourself get distracted from it by the baser interruptions, the minor pains and pleasures that every life contains.

Physically, I've rarely been particularly uncomfortable in my own life -- recovering from breaking my arm would have to count as the worst physical pain I've known, and (thanks to painkillers) it wasn't too terrible.  Emotionally, of course, I've known some awful pains (many of them self-inflicted, but not the worst), but even there I tend toward the comfortable.

Mentally, though, I seek and prize the feeling of discomfort more than anything.  If my mind isn't being taxed to the limit, I feel extremely bored.  It's not enough to be confused or uncertain -- I need my mind to be twisted in knots, I crave stimuli that force my mind to turn back on itself in reciprocal reflection.  I can't be happy unless I'm nearly being driven insane by this contemplation or that.

I think that's good for me -- I think it keeps me sharp.  But it means I am so very rarely surprised, because my mind has been conditioned to see the inside of things.  I love the sensations that go with surprise; I crave them!  Some of my fondest memories are linked to times when I was truly surprised, and my favorite books and movies all carry in them some sort of surprise for the careful devotee.

My favorite book ever is Vladimir Nabokov's Lolita.  That is a book that deals with some extremely uncomfortable topics; it is a true challenge to read.  But its subject matter isn't what elevates it to the highest art I know -- that would be Nabokov's unquestionable domination of English.  Nabokov, in fact, described the book as his "love affair with the English language," and that sense of romance, excitement, and danger is present in every word choice, every comma placement, and every last nigh-inscrutable grammatical experiment.  Every sentence hides another delightful linguistic surprise, and it's more than enough to help me past the content's utter repulsiveness.

Alas, for many (most?) people, it is not so, and the book's plot proves to be an obstacle too great to traverse.  I would say that the joy this book has given me is at least matched by the frustration I've felt at trying to explain its greatness to people.  How can I describe the total despair I feel when looking into someone's eyes and realizing that, no matter how sincerely I extol the virtues of this masterpiece, how fully and beautifully I was moved by it, how much more it is than the dirty story they might assume, I will never be able to convince that person to read it?  How do you respond when someone's reaction to something you love is pure closed-minded ignorance?

I realize that I've traveled this ground before in this space, but Nabokov really does deserve a special mention.  As does my fervent desire to punch people who shake their heads and turn away from words so masterful and moving they bring me to tears, people who instead embrace and re-read their same favorite novels year after year, as if something different will happen.

I have never re-read Lolita, and I doubt that I can.  There are some experiences that are too singular and permanent to ever be repeated -- but more than that, I don't think I could bear the need to share my feelings while reading it again.  It was like learning to read English all over again.  It was like being born anew, and seeing things for the first time. It was like my third eye opened, and I awakened.  But now that I'm awake, the night feels very long, indeed.